


Between the Lines

by s6115



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: AU, F/M, M/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:08:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21925699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s6115/pseuds/s6115
Summary: "It's insane! It's absolutely insane!" Bev kicked the book - Beware the Sewers, by William Denbrough - hard so it flew across the yard. "We're in a book! We're fucking characters in a book! We're fucking in a book, Richie!""Oh, we're fucking?" He quipped. "Why didn't you tell me? I would have brought candles.""Fuck you."In which Bill has been in love with Richie since forever, and stayed behind in Derry. He did not realize the commotion his book would make in the lives of the Losers who left and forgot everything that ever happened.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier, Bill Denbrough/Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 77
Kudos: 143





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone's still here in this fandom hi! I'm not entirely sure I should be posting this but I did my best.

"It's a good thing we did it in google docs; there's no way I'd want that fucking dick taking credit when we were up two nights in a row perfecting that shit."

"He's going to be _pissed_ if he has to retake the class," Bev pointed out. They dropped their book bags on the sofa of the school coffee shop and began to sit. 

"That's not our fault!" Richie protested. "It's not some dumb high school busywork here, we both have scholarships on the line. If he wanted to do well, then he should have tried, like, _at all."_

Bev snorted, "Yeah. He could have at least realized that google tracks who wrote what." 

Richie chuckled too and pushed his glasses back up his face as she settled back into the cushions. "Hey, it's my turn, right? Do you want a peppermint mocha or a hazelnut latte? Of course, you could let me convince you once and for all that peppermint only ever belongs in toothpaste and try some real coffee like a vanilla latte or let me surprise you with a su-hu- _hu_ per special shot of - "

"Beep beep, Richie," Bev scrunched her nose at him. "Hazelnut, please." 

Richie saluted her and got in line for their orders. It was pretty ordinary by now for the two of them to be here, once a week after their final shared class. They sort of fell into the practice, making it easy to take turns who would pay for the same drinks every time. They shared an apartment, they shared bills, it was easy just to split the coffee, too. That's when he noticed it - the whispering. That's the thing, isn't it? People's instinct to whisper was based on the idea it was less bothersome, but whispering stood out so much against the noise of the usual chatter, the ambient sound one could block out of everyday bickering, much more annoying and attention-grabbing than letting your voice blend in with the noise of everyone around. 

Richie tried to ignore it. Really, the stares and whispers weren't all that weird. It had happened a spare few times before, maybe one to three times. He and Bev weren't **special,** special. Just a little out there to warrant a stare or two. Bev had busted into the fashion world with a bang - winning some highfalutin contest apparently only seniors in their last quarter ever won. She'd been an incoming freshman. Now she had an internship with some fashion company Richie couldn't pronounce. Meanwhile, they spent their Saturdays at comedy clubs, and she'd record Richie trying his fucking best to make people laugh and put it up on a youtube page they shared. Their followers were undoubtedly growing, and Richie was making bigger and bigger crowds laugh at his shenanigans. So some people recognized them, it didn't actually mean anything. It was all kinds of dumb. Honestly, it was just kind of creepy now, the whispering. 

Richie crossed his arms tightly over his chest and stepped a short pace up in the line. Some people just needed to get it out of their system, right? So he and Bev had a following, but who the fuck freaked out over a fashion line or whatever? Or a guy who spent his time trying to make people laugh. It wasn't like they were in movies. They barely had a following! Everything was fine. 

"What the flying fuck?" Richie yelped. Someone had yanked on the back of his collar, the winter air flying down his back to his skin. He spun around, trying to grab his shirt as he twisted to find a phone in his face. 

"I had to know!" A guy said, keeping the phone up. Recording. He was recording scaring the shit out of Richie and yanking on his clothes? "I can't believe it's true!" 

"What are you on? What are you talking about?" Richie demanded. 

Bev ran over, quickly trying to grab his shirt to put it back to right and sent a confused glare back to the guy. "What is going on?"

"What the book said!" The guy defended, because that was a defense, apparently. "It's true! You've got freckles shaped like Orion's Belt above your shoulder blade!"

"What?" Richie said. None of his questions had been answered. None! He was more confused than before! 

The guy finally lowered his phone, and Richie recognized the movement - he stopped recording and flipped through some items. Pictures, maybe. The guy put his phone back up and turned it around to show them a book cover. 

Beware the Sewers  


By William Denbrough


	2. In the Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bev and Richie try to figure out if this is really happening. They are not fucking pleased.

Part of Richie really wanted to stop glaring at the website currently mocking him. Really. The problem was that every time he looked away, even just to drop his forehead to the bed cover below him, it pulled him right back in. While he lay on Bev's bed, she sat at her desk, glaring at her computer screen the same way he was. Neither were very happy.

"It's a coincidence," Bev said for what had to be the third time. Maybe even fifth. 

"I didn't even know I had freckles. I didn't know I had freckles like that," Richie grumbled. 

"They're on your back, how the fuck would you know?"

Richie tapped his screen, and an electronic page turned. He tried to read the book, but it was too slow to eat away his current concern, so he went to the wiki, giving it a scan and trying to update Bev when her temper allowed. From what he knew, the book was about a group of friends, two of whom were named Bev and Richie. She was a redhead. He had black, curly hair and big glasses. Shocker! They both had scars on their hands, a single curled line that was sharp on one end and faded out on the other. He had freckles on his back shoulder blade. She had a scar on the inside of her thigh, a single knife knick. At the end of the book, the two of them left their small town to rent an apartment together and go to the same university.

Richie hated everything about it. He hated how it was so right. It seemed so one the nose, and that wasn't even the end of it. How the scar faded on one end? The exact palm it was on? The prescription strength of his glasses? How he talked much more than she did - it was just too much. 

"It's a coincidence."

"Can you stop fucking saying that?" Richie straightened one arm so his torso tilted towards her. Bev dragged her toes over the shitty apartment carpet as she turned in the office chair, looking back at her computer. "And stop refreshing twitter!"

"It's got twenty-four million retweets, Richie! What the fuck am I supposed to do?" Bev insisted. "Not to mention the views." 

"If I'd known my body is what would have made me go viral, I would have posted my nudes fucking ages ago," Richie muttered. "This is stupid. How did this go viral? One crazy guy in a college coffee shop?" 

"William Denbrough. Apparently, he wrote some best selling short story collections, and before that, they were viral on his site. They were like vignettes to the novel he was writing, this novel," Bev said, switching to the guy's Wikipedia to show him before flipping right back to twitter. "The characters were all in the short stories, but he never described their appearance until the book -" 

"Oh, fuck that! Who fucking cares? So Bev is a redhead who went to college, that doesn't mean she's you. It's not like that's some special signifier. We have scars on our hands, and it's not like no one else in the world possible cut their hand at some time in their life. So we sort of look like these guys, so what? Who cares? It's text on a page, printed text. It could be anyone at all!" Richie finally shut his computer, closing the monstrosity. 

"Everyone is going to say it's because of this," He finally said, voice soft and fragile. "If I make it into comedy, people are going to say it's because of that clip. Not the endless nights trying to come up with bits, embarrassing myself over and over again at eleven o'clock at night in dangerous night clubs, sucking up to talent agents who were never going to look at me. They're going to think it's this dumb shit, some creepy writer in his sixty-year-old attic." 

"Beep beep, Richie," Bev mumbled. 

Richie looked up, sliding his knees under him. No. No! Right? Not a chance. He slowly got off the bed as Bev looked up at him, gasping as she lifted her cheek from her fist. It was a flurry as she pulled up the eBook they were too spooked to try and read, command+F on the page. 

"Beep beep, Richie," She said again. Her exhale was just... so... resigned. "Eighty-two mentions."

Richie shook his head, shrugging out his arms. "Maybe it's a more common saying than we thought it was." 

"Maybe we're overthinking this," Bev tried. "Maybe we knew him, like a colleague or whatever. He was a teacher at high school or a janitor, and he used some vague idea of us -" 

"If he was some random guy, why would he know about freckles so weirdly placed even I didn't know they existed?" Richie asked. "You saying the janitor spied on the boys' locker room? And the girls, how else would he know about your scar on your thigh? You always wore those leggings, remember?"

"Not really!" Bev yelled.

"Yeah? Me neither!" Richie yelled back. Oh. Oh shit? They stared at each other, tempers shutting down as their emotions depleted. "So... I'm going to ask what probably sounds like a dumb question, but... where exactly in Maine did we go to high school?"

"I uh..." Bev faltered. "I don't think I know." 

"Right." Richie paused. "That's not weird. That's not weird at all. A lot of people forget the finer details of their childhood. It's like a whole thing. You only ever remember how many feet of snow you walked through." 

"Our _childhood?_ It was four years ago, dumbass!" She hissed. 

"So what?"

"So?" She said. "So I don't know! I don't know how to deal with this! I just wanted to graduate." 

"Same here!"

Bev's phone dinged. "Shit."

"What's that?"

"I set up an alert."

"You set up an alert for what?" Richie asked. "Creepy book shit?" 

"Okay, so I set up several alerts," Bev said. "And this one panned out." 

Bev refreshed the trending page, and there at the top was her face. It was a seemingly short infographic video, first frozen on a split screen of her: one half from The Constellation Video, the next an image of her in one of her craft videos from their youtube page. She tapped the play button, and it zoomed to the craft video, smiling and laughing at Richie as he recorded. The Youtube video paused and zoomed in on her hand as she held up a scarlet red fabric and dragged her hand across it, revealing the palm of her hand. A red circle appeared, framing the scar on her palm.  


Bev started scrolling, seeing a host of comments about the scar, the book, and guessing how Richie had one, too.

"Well, I guess now we know why our viewership spiked. It had nothing to do with us or how we improved," Richie grumbled. 

Bev groaned, dropping her face into her palm. "I can't believe this is happening." 

Richie dropped a hand to her shoulder, hoping he could comfort her. 

"What are we going to do?" She whispered. 

"I have no clue," He said. "Find a way to deal, I guess. Either that or wake up..." 

Bev sighed and stood up. "Yeah. It's your turn to have a nightmare, so..."

He nodded and grabbed his computer. "I'll see you in the morning. Let's hope it all blows over."


	3. This isn't a Book Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bev's class turns into a book club she both needs and hates. Richie isn't sure if this means he's out of the closet or not.

_Beverly, even at thirteen, longed to command the attention she was getting. She conducted herself with great command - controlling absolutely everything she could get her hands on. From the length of her hair, the air she breathed in, the reasons why people looked at her. She dressed ahead of the curve. She directed her gaze with passion._

__

_"I want to run towards something, not away," She said._

_Even at thirteen._

_Everyone looked at Bev. If she could, she'd pick the reasons why._

_Watching her grow up in the clubhouse, one beaded boot dragging on the floor as she swung in the hammock proved that much never changed about her. The rest of the Losers matured over time, but she knew so quickly what she wanted. Bill thought she'd turn her eyes to someone strong, tough - that's what all the books said. Broad-shouldered and small-town charm. It took a few years for Bill to understand why, maybe he was too small-town, too. But Bev knew what she wanted. Worldly charm. Poetic. Smart._

_Ben. Bev knew so quickly, and it took the rest of the Losers ages to catch up. Bev wanted Ben._

The book was really, really hard to get through - probably not for the rest of the world. It was so hard, reading descriptors of her own face right at her. It seemed Denbrough had changed the last names but not much else if it really was about her. All the little details, the things she could remember anyway, the things she could see, they all rung true about her. About Richie. 

How her mom was dead, and her dad became a drunk nothing. She smoked since she was little, dressed herself with passion. According to the book, this character Bev had known Richie since they were twelve, at least as friends. Before that, they were casual classmates. She had forced herself to get through a whole chapter, and was scanning a page here and there of Chapter 2 as the professor talked. Her textile work was impeccable at this point, and she was on track to become the valedictorian anyway. 

A paper ball lobbed at her shoulder. She was almost impressed. Most people typed their notes so they could generally free their hands to practice their Class-600 stitchwork. Professor Kilbert firmly believed that keeping one's hands busy helped the mind keep up, and no one should be out of practice, so it helped that he kept spare fabric and thread by his desk. Since so few people used paper, it was easy for Bev to turn around and spy the culprit pretty quick. 

"You're actually reading that?" 

"Yeah, what's your problem?" 

"Is there a problem, Miss Marsh?" The professor called. 

"Yeah, thread for brains is bothering me," She jabbed her thumb over her shoulder. For what it was worth, Harrison seemed appropriately ashamed, but just put out his hand.

"She's reading a book she's already in! Come on, it's not like she doesn't know what's going to happen." 

"I don't know!" Bev tried to interject. 

"Everyone wants to know what would be written about them, Harrison," Kilbert seemed almost bored by the complaint. Impressive. 

"What do you mean you don't know? I get that the killer clown's an exaggeration, but he's gotten everything from your scars to your -"

"Are you reading it for the clown?" Another girl leaned forward on her desk. "That's gotta be the most interesting part for you, right? You'd know everything else." 

"No, I'm not in it for the clown! I don't care what Ted Bundy fucker is driving the plot. I want to know everything else!" 

"It was John Wayne Gacy - "

"I don't study serial killers, _**Marcia!"**_ Bev sneered. Marcia frowned and sank back in her seat with a frown.

"I'm not all that in it for the plot either," Harrison agreed. "I mean, he's pretty cool and all, but it makes a lot of sense. No eighteen-year-old skips the precious 'dorm room experience' to move in with a guy unless she already knows he's a good roommate and has seen him in his tidy whities enough to know he's not going to try and get in her pants." 

Bev turned back to Harrison. "What?" 

He looked at her. "Richie. You lived with him before?" 

"This isn't book club!" Professor Kilbert clapped his hands to shorten the conversation. "Any more chatter about this, and I'll assign an extra essay about price margins on bootleg jeans in western Europe."

While it couldn't have taken more than thirty seconds, Bev was thrilled the semi-interrogation had finally ended. Even if it was so short, it gave her so much to think about. 

Why Richie? It had to be weird. They were close now, so close, but just leaving high school to move in with a boy... something wasn't right. Maybe they'd just been best friends, but surely she would have known that? Surely she did know that. Right? 

Richie was loud and crass. Maybe he'd just scared off all their other friends. That didn't feel right, either, because she would have known. Why would she be friends with a guy like that? A guy who was so loud. For the first time, when class ended, she was the first one to leave, shoving her computer into her book bag and began high tailing it back to the apartment, the key rattling under her sapphire scarf. 

Who would want to live with a guy like Richie without knowing him really well first? He was so loud and abrasive, a stranger would fear for their eardrums. Bev darted her way up the fire escape, more focused on just getting up there rather than dealing with the shitty elevator or any neighbors she'd have to make polite banter with. 

Richie, so far, didn't have the same patience as Bev did. He'd given up slowly trying to work his way through this book from hell. Some questions needed answering. This is what computers were for: answering questions right mcfucking now. All it really took was another search, just like _beep beep, Richie._ Instead, he found the singular word: Constellations. 

__

_If Bill had known this moment was coming, he would have been dreaming about it. A delicious secret, something about someone beautiful that none of the others knew. If he'd known the vaguest details of this moment, it would have embedded itself in his dreams. Bill would have daydreams about the tips of his fingers tracing the outline, pressing his lips to each individual star. Naming each one._

__

__

__

__

_Making Richie laugh as his breath tickled against the constellation of frecks. Making Richie laugh for once instead of the other way around._

__

_But finding out was a blessing and a curse. A dream and a nightmare. Everything he'd ever wanted and everything he feared. If **IT** came back, it would probably embody this moment just to fuck with Bill. _

__

_The Losers always had free reign in the Tozier house - his parents wouldn't care, if they ever even noticed. He stopped by Richie's bedroom for a moment, asking Bev where he was. She lay on his bed on her stomach, feet kicking up in the air as she flipped through a magazine._

_"Think he went to the guest room. His mom was muttering about 'couvertures,'" Bev said, her French accent still sucked, but it was getting better. Supposedly. Bill nodded and shut the door for her as he headed to the guest room._

_The next door he opened led to a broken heart. Richie's shirt was sliding off his shoulders, revealing the beautiful marks. Freckles on the back of his shoulder, gracing his left shoulder blade._

_Like Orion's Belt, Bill noted, his favorite constellation. Mostly because it was the first one he'd ever learned, but it still counted. Richie had a constellation of freckles on his shoulder, of Bill's favorite constellation. How beautiful was that?_

_But it was Eddie taking off his shirt. They were both too busy kissing, pressing their hands to each other to notice Bill was standing there, trapped in between elation and devastation. So Bill left, shutting the door behind him as his eyes watered._

Richie wasn't sure how he should feel about it. He slammed his computer shut and took off his glasses. He groaned, rubbing his eyes as his stomach churned, something bubbled in his belly. He could totally puke right now. He felt sick enough.

Bev climbed through the window, sitting on the ledge for a few moments to catch her breath. Richie turned in his seat, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Hey, Bev," He said, his tone leaking sing-song concern. "You okay?"

"No." 

"Yeah, I get that." 

Bev looked up, hands still bracing the ledge of the window sill, letting what little warm air their shit apartment had fly out to the city. "Your home is really loud, right?" 

"Yeah, cause you go full Cher in the shower. What gives?" 

"We're from Derry, aren't we? Derry, Maine, like the book."

Richie frowned. "You're asking me like I'd know." 

"Richie!" Bev stood up. She finally shut the window and made her way to the table. "This is serious. People are acting like we should know these things, doesn't that bother you? Because it bothers me, and I'm wondering... what if we should?" 

"Bev, it's a novel," Richie pointed out. "It's not supposed to be real. I bet more than half the stuff in here is fake. If it wasn't, it would be listed in the nonfiction category or even historical fiction."

It all had to be fake. The... twisted idea that he had kissed a boy? Richie had kissed girls, played along with them in drinking games, and begrudgingly held hands, while daydreaming about the guys sitting next to them. 

If William Denbrough knew about his first kiss, first real kiss, and described it like that...? Then how evil was the world to take it from him? Or was it all some cruel punishment for being the way he was, for staring at boys while kissing a girl. 

How did William Denbrough know this about him? Had it actually happened the way it was in the book? This guy, this Eddie, had they known each other for long, or just long enough for Richie to bring him home for one night? There was something so destructive about having his sexuality laid out in a book. It was romanticized, but shit, he hadn't been planning on coming out. Bev knew he wasn't interested in dating, that he never called girls hot, but they never pinned a label to it and now -? 

Willian Denbrough had sold millions of copies. And people thought this Richie was him, this guy who was fucking another guy. He'd daydreamed about how he would come out someday, but fucking hell, he never thought he'd come out in someone else's book. 

"Do you think they're real?" Bev's voice was meek, staring at the table in between them. "The others." 

"The others, who?" Richie asked as if it was some cheesy knock-knock joke.

"The Losers," She rolled her eyes. "The Losers Club, in the book. It's you, me, Ben, Eddie, Mike, Bill, and Stanley. You and me as in - "

"I know what you mean," Richie pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just call them you and me, somehow it's way less confusing, even if it's still fucking confusing." 

"Okay, well, they're 'our' friends. This Ben guy, he was important. I liked him a lot, and now, what if he's real?" Bev asked. 

Richie shrugged. Sure, his character was about two seconds and some tidy whities away from fucking some guy, and he sure as hell didn't remember losing his V-Card, so the whole thing was a big mess. "If they're real, Twitter will tell us. Probably." 

Bev snorted. 

"What?! Am I wrong?" 

She stood up, hands touching the tabletop as she did. "It's not that you're wrong, I just hate that you're right."

"I made your favorite," Richie called into the kitchen as she headed for the fridge. It was his turn, after all, and he made some mean meatballs with sauteed mushrooms she liked. It should last them for a few days. 

He heard a few plates start to scrape together, knowing she was cleaning up and taking her turn to whack at the dish soap. He bit into his lip, daring to open the computer once again. 

_The perfect astrology. A luminous symbol on heavenly skin — a constellation of freckles._

Fucking hell. Richie dropped his hand to his chin, teeth digging into his pink skin. Maybe he should get one removed, just to fuck with this William guy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> does anyone want to talk to me about how in the first movie Bill hold's Richie's hand to calm him down about the missing poster? Cause I think about that shit like twice a day. 
> 
> And then when faced with the three doors bill holds Richie behind his back to keep him safe? the reasons I'm hearteyes for bichie are endless and I have no friends to talk about this with. I know its probably old news but come on it fills my soul.
> 
> *comments make me write faster*


	4. Live Streaming this is a Bad Idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pretending that everything is normal doesn't always work.

_Bill never thought he'd witness a whirlwind romance. Not in Derry, Maine, or any real kind of love story that would be worth telling. People didn't do anything worth committing to ink unless it was murder, mayhem, and every type of violence in between. Dumping trash on a middle schooler, carving names into stomachs, throwing rocks, and aiming for heads. Who would fall in love in Derry?_

_Maybe it was because they had seen each other at their worst, the truly rock bottom of the barrel and scraping deeper, the Losers were capable of the unimaginable. Ben and Beverly saw the best and crappiest of each other. After IT disappeared into its hole, most of the Losers felt the need to rebuild, and that took years, a decade, and maybe beyond. The worst summer ever didn't stop the new year from coming. Even though the rest of the world stayed the same, Bill found himself incapable of going back to how he was. Georgie was still gone._

_None of the Losers recognized themselves in the mirror._

_Maybe that was the big problem now. Before, they could blame their problems on IT. Now, after IT had wrecked them and destroyed who they were, all that was left were losers. All that was left was one single lesson._

_No one, especially not adults, will keep you safe._

_Except for the Losers._

_So it wasn't all that weird that all available Losers began to eat their lunch together when school restarted. No one in the Losers Club was shocked to find Mike outside the school so he could walk home with them. Not a single one of them blinked when Ben started to buy Bev her lunch. And when they hit sixteen, it felt natural when he began to buy her milkshakes after school._

_For Bev and Ben, things were simple. The Transition from friends to more was imperceptible, smooth, and clear like glass. It was everyday unchanged, right up until he brought her a corsage for the winter dance. That was when she smiled kissed him on the cheek. Almost like she had been expecting it, pulled out a boutonnière, and pinned it right back to his chest._

_For the first time, Bill wondered if maybe, things could have a happy ended, at least for two of the Losers._

Richie ran his sponge over the pan, trying to keep clean up duty quiet. Bev kneeled on the floor, working a few pins into the chest of a headless mannequin. Beside her was a laptop that was set up with a live stream chat as she talked at a camera. Despite their shared channel, Richie didn't always understand when Bev talked shop to their followers. He barely understood what a pleat was, much less her effort to explain why she was spacing them out or what it would mean. 

Today was hard. It was Saturday, so they had no classes. Richie had thought that would be a good thing, that it would give them time to absorb all that was going on, that it would give them a break from all the fucking nonsense around them. It hadn't. Instead, it just meant they had no distractions to avoid the damn book they were basically trying to avoid, and neither of them wanted to admit it. Richie spent some time trying to edit his bits and set up for the live stream. They ate leftovers for dinner far too early and were left feeling just empty. Nothing. 

They tried. Richie and Bev tried to act like everything was normal. As the stream started, Richie talked about some upcoming performances, the open mic nights he planned to attend, clubs he'd go to, summer plans to try and really get into the business while Bev sorted through her sewing kits and garments. It took just a matter of minutes before both Richie and Bev had to address the elephant in the room and the copious amount of comments in the live feed. 

They really, really didn't want to talk about the book. 

The comments about Denbrough's work kept coming. Richie had reminded the stream once or twice before he left for clean up duty, but now it was all on Bev. She tried, as well, but now it seemed she had given up. Richie heard her go quiet a few times, something that usually meant that she was looking for a comment to reply to.

It seemed that there were more comments about the fucking book than there were about her hard work. And it sucked. 

"The goal is just to bind the chainmail to the bodice under the bra line. The tricky part is making sure its secure but also thin enough that you won't see it if you're not looking," Bev explained. She was still working all of the chainmail in place, at least from what Richie could tell. It was some challenge a follower had sent them, and the project was ongoing for over a month now. Maybe that was the fun part? 

"Right, the goal is kinky, not a cop," Richie chimed in from the kitchen. They had done this enough times now to know his voice would carry to the microphone from there. He put away the last of the dishes and rested his hands on his hips. It still looked like a bunch of broke college kids lived there with little to no decorations, but at least it was clean.

"Beep beep, Richie," Bev snorted. She paused again, but this time, the pause felt bitter and not hurt. "I mean, shut up." 

Richie sighed and got out a bag of popcorn. This stream already felt so much longer than it usually was, and they were probably only halfway through. 

"Thanks, phandomreader99. I think I'm going to go for two loops around each side of a link, maybe every four links, and then we'll see how that holds up," Bev said. "Shit, does anyone else miss Dan and Phil game videos, or is that just me?" 

"It's the entire world, probably," Richie yelled. He pulled out the popcorn. 

"I'm not asking you," Bev laughed from the living room. "Ow! Remember guys. Thimbles have a point." 

"Hah! Point," Richie opened the popcorn and dropped it into a large-ish bowl. "You were asking everyone, don't lock me out." 

"There's a reason to use thimbles, there, is that better?" Bev asked. A knocking sound came from the front door. "Can you get that?" 

Richie threw a few kernels at her before walking over, the bowl of popcorn in one hand. It was probably some poor door dash guy on the wrong floor or something. He opened the door, surprised to find three people there, instead of one guy holding a slightly wet bag of food. 

"Since when does post mates need a security detail?" Richie asked. 

"What?" One asked - a white guy with short brown hair and a bit of baby fat clinging to his cheeks.

"You think we're delivering food?" The other white guy said. "That's disgusting, this place is disgusting! Shit, when's the last time the landlord cleaned the hallways? I can feel the germs crawling." 

"Uh, probably the last time he went to an AA meeting, and who the fuck are you?" Richie retorted. 

"Can you let us in?" Said the third, a black guy with short buzzed hair and broader shoulders than Richie cared to admit. 

"Again, who the fuck are you?" 

"Richie?" Bev called. Though her tone was light and playful, probably for the camera, he could feel the underlying worry.

"That's Bev, right?" The black guy said. Richie could only raise an eyebrow. "I'm Mike, from the book. This is Eddie and Ben. So if you could just..." 

Mike gestured, and Richie knew what he meant. He turned to Bev, checking to make sure his torso was out of shot before raising a hand. He waved his straightened palm to his neck in a cutting motion, and Bev nodded, turning to the camera. 

"Guys, we'll have to cut this short. Surprise guests, isn't that fun." Bev started the shutdown speech, and Richie turned back to the door. 

He whispered. "Why the fuck should we believe you, huh?" 

"There's weird stuff, right?" The chubbier one asked. "Like stuff that makes a lot of sense, but you don't remember?" 

"What's going on?" Bev asked, finally coming up to the doorway. 

"They say they're in the book, too." 

"Oh," Bev said after a moment. "Can you prove it?" 

"Prove - prove it? Prove it, how?" The guy with a fanny pack asked. 

"Okay, I got this, I got this," The second guy said and pulled out his idea. There it was - Ben Hanscom, Derry, Main. The last name had the same 'H' initial, like how Richie's last name was changed on paper, as well, and Bev's. 

It was probably a Copywrite thing on Denbrough's part, but all it did was make the supersleuths online truly prove themselves. Richie sighed and opened the door wider. "Fuck it. Come in." 

The strangers stepped in, giving a little look around the apartment. Bev sent Richie a sharp stare. _This is such a bad idea,_ her eyes said. He shrugged. What else was new? 

"So," Ben said. 

"So," Richie agreed. "I guess this meeting of the losers club has officially begun. Which begs the question - why the fuck are you wearing a fanny pack?" 

"It's a drop leg bag, asshole," The guy who had to be Eddie said. "It's fucking fashionable."

"It is not," Bev said. "And drop bag implies it's on your leg, not your belt buckle."

"This isn't why we're here," Mike raised his hands. "Okay? We're all here to... figure these things out." 

"Sure, let's start the interview," Bev said. "First of all, how the fuck did you find us?"

"Well, you're online, so that helps," Ben said. "Plus, I hired someone to help."

"You what?" Bev asked. 

"Oh! I'm an architect." Ben said as if that _helped._ "I'm not doing so bad, so it wasn't that much." 

"You paid a guy to find Bev and me?" Richie stared. 

"You guys don't tag your places when you post." 

"That's on purpose!" 

"Second question!" Bev held up her hand as she interrupted. "Do you guys have these fun scars too, or is that just us?" 

It took a moment to understand, but then the three strangers all held up their hands. It shouldn't feel like so much, and yet seeing the same slash-like marks that dug across all their palms made it feel so real. 

"So, we're all in a cult," Ben said. 

"Shut up, Ben," Eddie said.

"Okay," Richie started. "I don't know how to handle this. Should we just stop for a moment? Get on the same page? Shoot some vodka and cheer that we're over twenty-one?" 

"Yeah, I'm not sure I even know what's going on." Bev had to agree. 

"Well. There's a book, and there's a bunch of stuff in there that feels real, but I know I don't remember it," Ben said. "Which makes this whole thing kind of weird. It feels real, you know, and it makes sense." 

"What parts feel real?" Bev asked. 

Ben sighed and opened his wallet again. There was a paper, neatly folded, and Richie adjusted his glasses to see. Beverly took the paper and was quiet for a breath. "This is my handwriting."

"I kind of guessed it would be," Ben said. "I don't remember why I have it, or for how long, I don't remember tearing it out of anything, but the book says you wrote it in a yearbook, and I kept it. And it's right, and I still have it." 

"It's my handwriting, my name," Bev said again. She handed it back over, shaking her head. "Shit, Ben." 

"So are we actually saying, like concretely, that there's a book out there, a fiction book, that knows more about us than we do? Which one of us is Dustfinger?" 

"I don't think it's like that," Mike said. "Some stuff has to be actually fiction - no one is saying there was a real clown eating people." 

"Who the fuck is Dustfinger?" Eddie asked. 

"Paul Bettany." Richie said, "It was a beautiful movie." 

"You just think he was beautiful," Bev quipped. 

"That's not funny," Richie glared. She balked. 

"What?" 

"No, it's not funny. I'm a comedian, I would know, it's not fucking funny! There's a book out there, and it's got me in it in a full-blown makeout session with a guy who's only wearing a fucking _fanny pack-"_

"It's a drop bag!"

"No, it isn't! It's not how I was planning on coming out! It's not how I was planning on coming out to you," Richie pointed at Beverly, his temper on the rise. "Shit, what if my mom reads it? Is there a french version, what the fuck?" 

"Richie," Bev said quietly. "I know you're gay. So does your mom." 

Richie's heart sank. "What?" 

"Yeah. I've known for a long time. And your mom knows, too. Last time I called her to check in, she asked if you had _un petit ami,_ not _une petite amie._ I mean, she never bothered to hear the answer as far as I can tell, but she definitely asked." 

Richie felt cold. Dismay. Confusion. Perhaps he couldn't name all the things that he felt, the weird twisting in his stomach and his chest were just that. 

"I - I would remember coming out to my mom. I would," Richie protested. 

"It was in the book," Now Eddie's voice was quiet. "Your character, Richie, he told Bill about it." 

Richie shook his head. "No. No! It's impossible, how would-" 

"I think it's just," Mike started. "I don't know."

"It's just insane," Bev said. Her fingers twitched, and Richie knew her well enough to know it meant she wanted to smoke. 

"Bev," Richie put a hand on her shoulder. He doubted there was anything he could actually do to make this any better, but he could at least be there.

"No! It's insane; it's absolutely insane!" Bev protested. "We're in a book! We're fucking characters in a book! We're fucking in a book, Richie!"

"Oh, we're fucking?" He quipped. "Why didn't you tell me? I would have brought candles."

"Fuck you."

"Technically, I think it was you and I fucking," Eddie said. Richie sent him a look. Eddie was blushing - staring, to be honest, with big, deer-like brown eyes. "And Bill watched like it was a private show." 

Besides the fanny pack, there wasn't anything **wrong** with Eddie. He seemed strong-willed, which Richie did go for, at least in movies. It was just hard to picture himself with anybody. Was it the childhood friends thing that got them together? A lack of options?

"He didn't watch the whole thing," Richie pointed out. "Why do I get the feeling you'd drown me in Purell before we tried anything?" 

"It's not a bad idea as long as you remember it's for external use only," Eddie said.

"Nope. Mm-mm, I'm calling it," Richie pointed. "Didn't happen. It's fiction, right up there with the Clown."

"He knew about the freckles," Mike pointed out.

"Fuck my freckles!" Richie protested.

"Okay, everybody!" Bev yelled. "We can't do this! We're not going to solve our problem chattering here!" 

"What problem, Bev?" Richie demanded. 

"He's got a point," Eddie said quietly. "I mean, can you even put a name on what's going on around here?" 

"No, but I can put a place," Beverly crossed her arms. 

"She's right," Ben said. "We've got to go home. To Derry." 

Richie adjusted his glasses. Why did that feel like a death sentence? Like the Clown was going to come back and eat him right here and now? Like Derry wasn't a town, but a gallows. 

Beverly shrugged. "We've got to find William Denbrough."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, guys thank you so much! I don't think I've ever had so many comments on a piece of work as I did for chapter three! I felt I really had to thank you so I had to post this chapter as soon as I could. Your kind words are so inspiring and I promise Bill is coming in soon!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one likes road trips. You get stuck in a tiny space with a bunch of strangers, someone's going to end up getting called names. Alls fair that ends fair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments guys! I wake up every morning and read each and every one of them. I can't tell you how much I enjoy them and the make my day and make me SMILE and squeal to the point my dog worries at me.

"Alright, guys, just checking in. Some of you may be wondering, uh, what the hell is going on, where are ya, Bev and Richie?" Bev said. She held the camera out with a perfectly stretched arm, a practiced position that, as they loathsomely learned a few years back, required quite the muscle tone to hold for long periods of time. By now, they knew she could frame the camera to catch her entire face, which made editing a whole lot easier. "That's uh, that's pretty simple, really. Richie and I are here on a road trip."

Bev gestured behind her free shoulder. She was facing the open air, a long highway with a few speckles of trees that didn't give much way to their location - she knew better than to catch the ugly gas station in the view. 

Richie popped into the shot, one hand to balance his movement. It wasn't that odd of him, so he knew it wouldn't upset her, they'd done this plenty of times that it just worked for them. Besides, he'd already finished cleaning the windshield of all the dead bugs, so who cared. 

"We're hunting Big Foot." He yelled. The sarcasm and levity dripped from his words as he shook her shoulder.

Bev snorted out a laugh. "Yes. That's what we're doing! We are pulling a Buzzfeed Unsolved out here with all of you. But what we are going to do is actually find the fucker and marry him to the jersey devil." 

"Or her." 

"Yes, or her," Bev allowed. "We're going to one-up the Unsolved Team. Richie." 

Bev turned fully, and Richie sidestepped to be by the car. "What are our supplies for catching ourselves a singular Big Foot?" 

"Oh, I'll tell yah," Richie put his hand on the hood of the car and sniffed once. He slipped naturally, perfectly, into a professional auctioneer voice. "We got snacks! Right here, right here, we got sandwiches, we got water. We got ourselves a full tank of gas! And! We've! Got! The worlds' most boring car." 

"It's not boring! It's  **_ safe." _ ** Eddie said. He seemed to have come from the gas station, an arm full of what appeared to be several soda bottles in a canvas bag he had brought with him and several hand towels - the little prepackaged kind for washing stuff. Richie was pretty sure if he turned Eddie upside down and shook him, more would pour out from his pockets. 

How fucking sexy. 

"Red cars have a much higher rate of being ticketed, and white and gray cars have a high rate of collisions. I picked this car and its color after much research into its safety features. 

Bev looked up from the viewfinder to stare at Eddie for a moment and turned back to Richie. "Okay. We'll edit that out." 

"Yeah, good idea," Richie said. "Eddie, I get the feeling that you are just a fucking riot." 

"Hey, I care. Okay? I care about my life, my health-!" 

"Your life? We're on a road trip to a place that was literally the inspiration for a horror novel." Richie said. "No judgment, cause I'm right here next to you! I'm way more concerned about how much you spend on those fucking wet naps."

Eddie stopped. "I have a job."

"Is it an entry job?" Bev asked. 

"It's at an insurance firm." 

"Okay... is it an entry job at an insurance firm?"

Eddie frowned. "My mom sends me extra money to help pay for my prescriptions and stuff."

Richie raised an eyebrow. "Your mother sends you money so you can buy wet wipes."

"Yeah, she fucking cares about me, asshole, where the fuck is your mother?" Eddie asked. "You talk to her so fucking little you don't even know that she knows your orientation. And what about your parents, huh? You haven't even mentioned them." 

"My mom is dead." Bev glared at Eddie, before turning to Richie. She let Eddie hang in his realization, like a man hearing a death sentence. "Your mom's gotta be in Derry, right?"

"It would make sense. She'd say something if she were heading home."

"Yeah, probably," Bev fiddled with the camera, lens aimed at the ground for a few moments.

"What's going on?" Ben said. Mike was with him, holding a pretty decent receipt for a tank of gas, some sodas, and a bathroom break. 

"Nothing, we're just torturing Eddie," Bev yelled back. "Sorry, boys. We're not used to recording around.... you know. People."

"We said you could. It's fine," Eddie's voice was so meek now. 

"Right," Bev said and turned the camera back on herself. "Our goal! Listen, our goal is to find Big Foot. We're not going to die. We're going to find Big Foot and enjoy the adventure along the way. 

"We're what now?" Ben asked. 

"Look, look, look, look," Richie said and pointed across the hood of the car. Bev turned the camera over to Ben and Mike. Ben, for his effort, waved kind of awkwardly at the camera, his puffy, puppy dog cheeks turning a light shade of pink. 

"This is our monster-hunting squadron. Look at this motherfucker. He's like the Old Spice Guy's sexy younger brother. Like, he saw the Old Spice commercial and said, Imma Be That but Better. And he succeeded. Because he's the Old Spice Guy's sexy younger brother." 

Bev turned back to Richie and put him into focus. "Hey, what happened to that guy?"

Richie shrugged, "I don't know. Wasn't he on Shadowhunters?"

"Mm, I never got into that. Hey, would you say, 'I'm on a horse?'" Bev asked as she turned back to Mike. "You don't have to if you don't want to. If you want, we'll cut all of this." 

"I'm not mad at being called the Old Spice guy," Mike said. Ben shook his head, climbing into the car. Mike put on a smolder and said it. "I'm on a horse." 

Bev screamed in joy at the sight of it while Richie clapped his hands and let out a quiet  **_ yay _ ** . For a road trip consisting of mostly strangers, it didn't seem like they'd have the worst time. 

_ "Where's my shoe?" A weak, shy voice echoed from the darkness, so thick it was like a massive black painting. Nothing more. But still, Bill could sense it, a single chord of metal hanging, swinging there in the darkness. Like the string of a lamp in a shed or an old closet that no one saw very much. It was all too natural just to reach out and pull, snapping the light on as the chord caught.  _

_ Sometimes, regret was instant. Maybe that was the wrong word, it didn't fit what he was feeling. Bill had a pit growing in his stomach, bitter twisting in the pit of his being, boiling up to leave a copper taste on his tongue. The tension mounted, the anger that this was happening, the worry that hadn't stopped. And the fear in Richie's voice, the way the black-haired boy shook and trembled, it all made Bill feel sick.  _

_ Sometimes, anger and despair were instant.  _

_ Betty hung from the rafters, her wrists pinned in place by something unseen. Blood dripped down, bite marks evident as matted hair covered her eyes.  _

_ Teeth marks. Teeth that had bitten into her shirt and tore down. Below her belly button, there was nothing left, but painful tendons, ruptured organs, nerve endings strung around like live wire. Betty screamed in unending pain.  _

_ Richie slammed the door shut, leaning his back against the door. "Where were her legs? Where the fuck were her legs? What the fuck was that"  _

_ The substance kept coming forward, crawling over the floor and dissolving it as it got closer. The floor would be gone soon, or they would. Destroyed in the acid. Bill grabbed Richie by the shoulders - he had to calm Richie down. He had to.  _

_ Richie reached forward, his pale fingers curling in Bill's shirt, over his heart. Maybe someday he'd like that feeling, he'd remember how precious it was. But now wasn't the time. He pressed his hands to Richie, trying to soothe him. _

_ "This isn't real! Remember the missing kid poster. That wasn't real, so this isn't real," Bill promised. Richie was having a hard time - with the screaming, the burning, the death all around them. Bill couldn't blame him. He reached, pulling Richie to stand behind him. He guarded him with one arm, for all the good it would do. At least it made him feel better.  _

_ "Are you ready?" _

_ "No!" Richie screamed. Bill opened the door again, ready to keep Richie behind him and face it all. Richie held on for his life. _

"Look," Richie said, scrolling through his phone as the Ever So Safe, Eddie approved car bumbled along the highway, "I'm not saying some killer clown was using us to fulfill his keto diet-"

"You know they're saying that shit's bad for you now," Bev piped up.

"Oh, of course, they are, they said the same thing about gluten," Richie scoffed. "I'm just saying, something spooky must have happened."

"I guess. Maybe something twisted just happened to the author," Ben suggested. They looked out the window. So far, Derry seemed pretty normal, as far as small towns went. "He saw a murder as a young guy, and now he writes horror novels." 

"Horror novels about us," Mike said. 

"Well, they say write what you know," Bev offered. 

"Who says that?" Eddie asked.

"Oh, don't you start," Bev said. 

"Is anything looking familiar to anybody?" Richie asked. The car went silent as it traveled down the road. It seemed like it was a pretty plain town square, with nothing much going on except for one exceedingly creepy statue of Paul Bunyan. Who the fuck was that guy anyway? Why did he need a statue so big you could sacrifice humans to it and no one would be the least bit surprised?

"I kind of want to go into the woods?" Ben admitted. "Is that weird?" 

"Yes, Ben, that's where people die," Richie said. "Instead of becoming puppy chow for a juggler, a hockey bro is going to bash your face in."

"No, nothing's weird. We're all going to a place that's named on our drivers' licenses, but we don't remember. Nothing is a bad idea," Mike pressed. 

"No, I'm with Richie. The woods is a bad idea," Eddie said.

"Oh, maybe there is a reason I fucked you," Richie mused. 

"No, no, I fucked you." Eddie insisted. 

"Oh, grow up, Eddie!"

"We probably waited,' Ben said quietly. He turned, biting his smile as he looked to Bev. "I uh, I know that we were kind of dancing around that more than they were, but, you know? That's what I think. That we waited." 

"What makes you say that?" Bev asked. 

"Cause I'd remember." 

Richie tried to hold in his groan, but fuck it was hard. Sure, it was pretty easy to see how Ben might have swept Bev off her feet when they were young and cringe was cute, but fuck everything! That was awful. 

"I don't know about that," fuck, why was Bev using her coy voice? "It says you gave me a corsage for prom. I'm pretty sure I'd remember a guy who got me flowers like that with a matching tie."

"What if we all split up?" Mike suggested. He held on to the oh-shit bar in the shotgun seat, looking at them over his shoulder. "Ben can go to the woods if that's what he wants. Eddie can go raid a CVS, and I can take the car and -"

"No, no, no one is driving my car! I am the only one insured to drive it and -"

"Eddie, my dude, take a breather," Richie said. 

"I'm fine! I just don't want my insurance to go up." 

"You make a great point, I promise," Richie said. He reached forward, patting Eddie on the shoulder. "But that doesn't change the fact that splitting up is never a good idea and until we find out for sure that Giggles wasn't inspired by some real-life H.H. Holmes - "

"It was John Wayne Gacy," Ben said. 

"I don't study serial killers, Ben," Richie insisted. "Until we find out what it was that spooked Denbrough and mindwiped the rest of us, let's, you know? Buddy up." 

"I'll go with you and Bev," Ben said. Bev shot Ben a look, and Richie hated that he knew she was smiling.

"We're not going to the woods, you know," Bev asked. 

"Where are we going?" Richie asked. 

"You sure you don't want to...?" Eddie started. 

"I was thinking that creepy house we passed a few blocks back," Bev said. "It felt like it was watching me."

"Oh, that place had ouija board written all over it," Richie said. 

"Then where do you want to go?" Bev demanded. Richie stared and opened his mouth only to shut it again repeatedly. 

"Fuck." He said. They were going to the woods. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day someone shall call me funny, and then I shall feel validated in life. Also, if Richie and Bev have followers what would their names be? Bespeckled Gingers?


	6. Vocal Exercises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one ever said looking for monsters in the woods was a good idea.

Richie was still irritated that Ben got his way. Maybe only half irritated. He wasn't pissed by any means, but they had ended up exactly where he didn't want to be: out in the woods, with very little clue as to where the holy hell they were. He had to accept that it made some sense, sure! Ben felt pulled to the woods. In a small town like Derry, there were only so many places to explore, so at some point, they would end up out there. They were still literally in a horror novel, but fine, let's go see if it stirred any memories. 

It just sucked. Not only were they risking death a la every horror camping movie ever, but he was third-wheeling it the whole way. 

"Do you think we played out here?" Bev asked. She had to raise her voice as Ben had wandered a bit ahead. He was leading the ragtag group of loveable idiots but didn't seem to be checking all that often if  _ Richie _ was keeping up. 

_ Duly noted, Ben, duly noted.  _

"Maybe. There's not that much that would stop us." Richie said. 

"Yeah, but we're not the camping type," Bev said and pointed at their general everything. She had a point, they were both the kind of pale that got burned in minutes, and neither of them had any outdoorsy skills. 

"We were kids," Ben called back. "We were in a small town. Maybe there weren't many ways to get away from our parents. There's not a mall or anything. Anything in town had to run the risk of our parents' friends telling them about it. So if we wanted to do something without them knowing, I guess..."

Ben gestured to the woods that he was so clearly scanning. Well, shit. Richie should call his mom at some point. 

"There's got to be something around here, I know it!" Ben muttered. He kicked at a bush, though how that was working for him, Richie didn't know.

"You mean other than the mosquitos trying to devour my soul?" Richie asked. 

"Shush," Bev scolded. "So, uh, Ben, you're an architect?" 

Richie dropped his head back and whispered out a groan. He hissed, "Are you serious right now? That's how you're going to flirt with him?" 

"What's wrong with asking that?" Bev whispered back.

"Yeah, uh," Ben called back. He seemed quite distracted by his determined search, and utterly oblivious to the whisper battle going on behind him. "I had a few internships at the same company, so it gave me a leg up in hiring." 

"You must have graduated quickly," Bev said. She raised her voice a bit so he could hear her - and probably to cover the fighting going on. Richie slugged her lightly on the shoulder. "What?!" 

"It's the most boring flirting ever!" Richie insisted. 

"I don't need to flirt with him; we've been dating since high school!"

"That doesn't even count!"

"Yes, it does!"

"Yeah, I was taking summer courses so I could graduate early," Ben explained.

"No, it doesn't!" 

"Yes, it does!"

Richie glared at her for a moment. It had come to this. He raised his fist, and so did she, and they quickly three tapped their fist down. Bev landed on scissors. Richie had kept his on rock, mostly because he forgot to change the shape of his hand. It totally still counted. "Hah."

"Shut up, Richie." Bev scoffed at him. Ben yelled through the sound of wood snapping out of place. Bev and Richie turned with surprise and ran over to where Ben had been standing. A great cavern had opened up in the ground, seemingly swallowed him. 

"Found it!" Ben yelled back up. "It's okay, come down!"

Richie shoved his glasses up his nose. "I won. You first." 

Bev groaned, but there was nothing that she could do. She had lost the game, after all. She sat down on the edge of the pit and eased herself down into the darkness. Richie leaned over the edge, hands on his knees as he watched the red curls drop away. "Well? Is it okay?"

He heard a soft whisper, two mingling voices of holy crap! Fine, so be it. He followed Bev down, grumbling all the way. They just had to go to the woods, didn't they? It was ever so important! 

It was actually quite spacious down there. Firm, straight walls and support beams - whatever this was, it wasn't a cave. It was human-made, with ninety-degree angles and careful planning. There were even bolts in place. 

"What is this place?" Richie asked. It smelled so strange. Something musty with age but sweet, something childish and familiar. They had come here a lot. He knew it. He raised a hand over a support beam, feeling the old grain nip at his fingerprints. 

"The clubhouse," Ben said. "I think I built it." 

Richie could only nod, his eyes were drawn to a hammock. He could see it almost. 

_ Feet tangling together, legs intertwining. Mocking, teasing... lips biting.... _

_ Eddie. _

Richie shook his head; he would never understand that. Richie hated this. Maybe before he could handle all this, if nothing had come from this trip home, they could pretend it had never happened at all. They could pretend they only had a momentary lapse of judgment, or there was a glitch in the matrix that caused it all, a cosmic coincidence that he and Bev fell for. They could laugh at this, the stupid idea that they were in a book. Bev might get snippy that she gave up her place as Valedictorian and settled for salutatorian, but hey, it would be okay. 

But now, now he was being mocked by a hammock. A stupid elongated swing that gave him a trickling of memories he didn't want.

"It sucks, doesn't it," Bev said. Richie felt a pressure on his shoulder, a dip as she pressed her chin to rest there. 

"It really does," Richie muttered, running a hand over the fabric. "Do you ever think that maybe we forgot these things on purpose?"

"An entire childhood?" Bev asked. "I don't know. Maybe. But it can't be all bad. Why would we forget it all? And how?"

"I don't think people get to pick," Ben said. He searched the walls of the hovel with some earnest like he'd find some significant meaning in the divets of dirt. "I wouldn't pick to forget this. It's got to be the first thing I ever built, nothing else really makes sense. Who would forget that? You can't just pick, so it has to be...." 

Ben only sighed. Bev picked her chin up and nodded at him. "All or nothing." 

"But why?" Richie asked. He and Bev turned to face Ben, watching as he ran a hand over a support wall. "Why forget at all?"

"Guys, is th-that you?" 

The trio looked up. It wasn't Mike or Eddie. The voice wasn't familiar, well as familiar as a bunch of people who had been hanging out for about a week could be. 

"Who is that?" Bev asked. She raised a hand to try and peer through the sunlight. "That guy, there was another, right, in the book?" 

"Stanley?" Ben suggested. "I don't think so. We tried. We went to his place like we did yours, but he slammed the door in our faces once we told him who we were and why we were there." 

"So, we go up and find out," Bev suggested.

"Are you crazy?" Richie hissed. "We're already in the middle of The Cabin in the Woods, and now you want to go up after the killer zombie family?"

"We're trapped in a hole in the ground anyway, do you have a better idea?" Bev shoved at his shoulder. 

"Guys?" The voice was closer now. So close that when they looked up this time, they could see a face peer down on them. Straight brown hair, watercolored eyes, and a smile that breathed the shy but certain words. The guy reached out, and a ladder knocked down into place so he could descend. 

"You could have said there was a ladder," Richie said. 

"Beep beep, Richie," Bev whispered. 

The guy stepped onto solid ground and, without a second's pause, wrapped his arms around Ben like old friends meeting. "I th-thought it was you. I saw you in the car, I w-waved, but you didn't see me." 

"Hold up," Bev held up her hand as the man turned to try and hug her and stopped him from getting close. "Who are you?"

The guy stopped hands in mid-air after her rebuff. Richie raised his eyebrows at the stranger. It wasn't fair to see those watercress eyes fill with confusion. They totally had dibs on confusion. 

"That's not funny, Bev." The stranger said.

"No one said it was funny. We said, who the fuck are you?" Richie insisted. 

"It's me," which didn't help. "Bill." 

And there it was. 

"Bill." Bev gasped a bit. "Bill. William Denbrough." 

"What?" 

"We should have seen that," Ben shook his head. "I guess we did, but somehow that's just as weird as every other option out there." 

Bev frowned as they took a step away from Bill. To be fair, this whole thing was exhausting. It was debilitating to an extreme level. It had been so tiring long before her maybe-boyfriend fell into a hole in the ground that he himself had forgotten that he dug. Exhausting. 

"Bill is short for William," Bev mumbled. 

"No. No! That's stupid," Richie pointed at her. Ben opened his mouth, and Richie could see a soft  _ it's not that stupid _ trying to worm its way out. "Shut up, it is! It's almost as stupid as Peggy being short for Margaret. For one thing, B is a plosive, and W is an approximant."

Ben stared. "I mean, well, yeah, but...?"

"But what the fuck, Richie?" Bev said. 

Richie realized what he said. On the one hand, it felt completely normal to know these things. He'd known them for a while. He knew that since he never studied... what was it anyway? Knowing the names of sounds, what would that count as studying? Whatever it was, he didn't study it in any of his classes in his business major. It all felt normal for him to know. But judging by Bev and Ben's faces, it was weird. "I'm allowed to know things."

"I don't even know what it is that you know, what was that?" Bev protested. 

"V-vocal exercises," Bill said. His eyes traced all of them, bouncing from Ben to Bev to Richie. Bill stepped forward, looking at Richie. "You... you used to help me. Ev-very day, at lunch. In school." 

Richie stared. Even as a stranger, somehow, Bill seemed so sincere. He sounded like an unwilling king. Richie swallowed and pushed his glasses. "You know us?" 

Bill's eyes watered. "Why don't you?" 

Shivers ran up Richie's spine. There was only so much trash one could spill before the garbage can ran out. He had so little left to say. "That's why we're here." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's vote, do you think Ben and Beverly count as dating or do they need to ask each other out all over again?


	7. Richie's Mom hates Company

Richie found a cup of coffee. More accurately, Bill Denbrough had placed one in front of him on the table. The steam was fresh and rising, ready to fog up Richie’s glasses. Bill nodded, “Two sugars, three creams.”

“Oh, look at this guy,” Eddie said. “Of course, he knows how you take your coffee.”

“I met you like, last week,” Richie pointed out. There was no way Eddie  **_ should _ ** know how he took his coffee – that would just be weird.

“Eddie,” Mike said softly.

“What?!”

“You’re not helping,” Mike explained.

“Who’s helping? Who are we helping?” Eddie asked. “Are we meant to be helping?”

Perhaps Eddie was right. Maybe he had a point – out of any of them, Bill was the last one who needed help. Still, that didn’t make the petulance warranted, and it wasn’t doing them any favors. If they wanted answers, then so far, Bill was the only one who could give them any semblance of a clue.

“Why are you here?” Bill took a seat at the table. There was a mish-mash of chairs that they had pulled around the breakfast nook table. Clearly, Mrs. Tozier wasn’t used to getting many visitors. There were the standard four matching chairs that probably came with the table as a set. The rest of the Losers had pulled up a few spares so that they could all sit. Bill seemed…. Well, he seemed just as miserable as he had on the way out of the forest. He looked just as miserable as he was when he realized he knew the way back better than any of them, and they had to play Follow the Leader with a complete stranger.

No, this would be just fine. This wasn’t weird at all!

“Because this,” Bev tried to explain. She held up her phone, probably expecting Bill to get that she had an electronic copy of his damned book loaded on there. “This was kind of creepy. I mean, there we were thinking that everything was normal, and it totally was and then –“

“Th-that guy grabbed his shirt,” Bill said. “I saw the video. I thought that you didn’t like being grabbed. My first instinct w-wasn’t that you forgot everything.”

“No, that too, that wasn’t fun,” Richie picked up the coffee. Fuck everything. It really was just how he liked it. The guy who secretly counted his freckles knew how he liked his coffee, and for some reason, Richie wasn’t allowed to find that creepy, because, in another life, they were  **_ besties. _ ** Fuck everything. Again.

“What ah,” Ben leaned forward and put his hands on the table. “I’m just a bit confused – no, I’m more than a bit confused. Bill, it’s weirding me out that you don’t seem all that surprised.”

Bill shrugged. “I don’t like it. But it’s not that weird.”

“Not that weird?” Eddie demanded. “Not that weird? Your entire club of losers is lost in a collective amnesia. It could be anything from a new strand of meningitis or a twisted form of swine flu, anything at all that swells the brain-“

“Merde!”

Bev and Richie looked up from their seats. Richie had to turn a bit to see down the hallway, but they heard the door slamming. Something crashed and shattered, the echoes of the mess reverberated back to the Losers.

“Maman?” Richie called. “Est-ce toi?”

“Does she know that you’re home?” Bev asked.

“Well, if she didn’t before she does now. Maman!” Richie yelled a little louder.

A frazzled woman rushed in. Her hair was full of fly-away black curls, and her arms were stuffed with messy stacks of paper. They had probably been in a neat pile before, but who really knew anymore?

“Je peux t'entendre, je peux t'entendre,” Amelie Tozier said. “Veuillez retirer la corbeille. Je le fais depuis des semaines et c'est l'une de vos seules corvées. Suis-je trop demander? Non!”

“Busy week, Maman?” Richie stifled a laugh, and Bev was already covering her mouth with a hand. Amelie just continued muttering to herself as she disappeared upstairs to her room. Bev immediately burst out laughing, dropping her hand just a bit as the act fell.

“Come on, it’s not funny,” Richie said.

“Oh, but it is,” Bev nodded. “It’s sad funny.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Mike asked. “What just happened?”

“You speak french?” Ben asked. Richie rolled his eyes – shit, could the guy get anymore starry-eyed? He had thought only anime people did that nonsense.

Bev opened and closed her mouth a few times. She finally said, “I mean, yeah. I probably took it in high school.

“No,” Bill said quietly. The Losers turned to him. “How much of my book did you actually read?”

“We  _ read _ it. That’s why there’s a problem here,” Bev said. “What do you mean,  _ no?”  _

“Y-your dad,” Bill said. “We found out how sc-scared of him you were. We got your stuff, and we p-put it in Richie’s room. You started sleeping on his trundle bed.”

“Oh! The kissing scene,” Bev leaned back in her seat. Of all the answers they came looking for, this hadn’t really been one of them. There had been some confusion – the questions from her classmates, the disinterest in the ‘dorm room experience.’ This just hadn’t been what they were looking for when they came all this way. She slapped the back of her hand to Richie’s shoulder, tapping her knuckles there as two and two fell together. “When he walked in on you and Sir Hypochondriac. I was on your bed like that was normal; I was talking about your chores!”

“Oh, man. That means we’ve been roommates for like a decade.”

“Now I feel old,” Bev said. “No wonder my French sucks. I learned it immersion-style from a lady who barely exists.”

“I still have no clue what is going on,” Eddie raised a hand.

“My mom yelled at me for not taking out the trash in the past few weeks.”

“You haven’t lived here in four years.”

“That’s the point, genius,” Richie said.

“Holy shit!” Bev shrieked. “That’s why I moved in with  **_ you _ ** ! Your mom would never notice! Not unless a guest came over and told her that my shit was piled up in the guest bedroom! Oh my god, we were genius thirteen-year-olds.”

Ben leaned forward. He yelled, “But  _ why?”  _

“We just covered that, Benny-Boo,” Richie said. “Open your ears. Or read the book. Bev, didn’t you stab that Jeffrey Dahmer Fucker in the eye when it was wearing your dad’s face?”

“That I did,” Bev grinned, seeming far too proud of her fictional self.

“It was John Wayne –“ Mike started.

“We don’t study serial killers!” Richie pounded on the table.

“Richard!” Amelie screamed from the higher portion of the split-level home. “Qu'est-ce que tu fais?”

“Désolée!” Richie screamed up the stairs.

“It doesn’t matter!” Bill insisted. The chaos quieted, incredibly fast for how vibrant it seemed the Losers could be when they surrounded each other. Richie adjusted his glasses – it seemed that everyone was just waiting for Bill to keep talking.

Richie hadn’t known Bill for very long – at least, not in any of his active memories. Yet Bill seemed to be the type that pulled everyone’s attention. He kept his voice low. Maybe that was just something he did because he was self-conscious, but it really, really worked.

He talked so quietly that everyone had to shut up just to hear him.

And everyone was silent, utterly mute, just waiting to see what word Bill picked next. Bill swallowed, looking down at his lap. “It… it doesn’t matter wh-wh-what killer did what. I’m just starting to think that – that you guys should go home.”

The Losers just stared, wondering what was going on.

“Not this home. Your homes outside of Derry.”

“We just got here,” Bev said. “We just started getting answers. There’s an entire clubhouse we found, and Ben just remembered building it. Why would we go?”

“Why would you stay?” Bill asked. “You forgot a l-lot of bad things.”

“I forgot things I should have remembered,” Richie said. “I forgot coming out to my mom. I’ve been stressing about that for the last four years when I didn’t have to. You remember my first kiss, and I don’t!”

“My first boyfriend,” Bev said. She stared, and Richie just knew who she was staring at, because Ben looked down, the tip of his nose darkening a shade. “My only boyfriend.”

“The fact that I don’t have asthma,” Eddie said. “I’ve been buying inhalers all this time. I mean, what am I supposed to do with that?”

“That’s fucked up, Eds,” Richie said.

“Maybe it’s a lot of bad things we forgot,” Mike laid his hand on the table like he could somehow magically calm them all down. Maybe he could, if he had alcohol or weed on him. Maybe he could just drug them all and it would help. “But the bad things are just as important as the good ones. It’s like a seesaw, right? You only know you’re on the ups cause once you were down. Your actions in the dark define who you are in the light.”

“What do you do for a living?” Bev asked. “I don’t remember asking that before, but I’m getting  _ advisor-y _ type vibes from you.”

“I get that,” Bill promised. “B-… but that doesn’t mean I want to dump the bad things on you. Not all at once. Not when you have an out.”

“Bill, you seem like a really sweet guy. You do,” Richie said.

“A sweet guy who watched us kissing behind our backs,” Eddie said. Someone slapped him, Richie could only assume from the yelp and the glare that immediately followed the retort.

“We knew something trippy had to have happened here. We got that when we read the books. You’re not taking a bunch of hapless strangers and dumping shit on their faces. We’re here asking to be dumped on. We are giving our consent, please dump your shit on our faces.”

“Beep beep, Richie,” Bev said.

“The metaphor works.”

Bill shook his head. It was starting to get dark – and not just the light outside. It was true that they knew something probably happened. They had laughed about it on the road trip. The Losers (and Richie was really starting to hate that they were so easily going by that name) had figured that some creepy shit happened that lead to this guy writing a horror book. It took a certain kind of person to write a really good horror book. The more significant issue now was just how clammed up Bill was.

What could have happened that was so bad that Bill wouldn’t talk about it to them? His supposed friends?

“How about this?” Richie said. “How about you just show us around for a bit? Then tomorrow, we can talk some more. Huh? Talking. That’s not so bad. I don’t know if you know this, but I am very good at talking.”

“I know.”

“That’s right! I went to your… lessons?”

“Speech th-therapy.”

“Right. That.”

“I like that plan,” Bev said. She stood up. “Okay, boys. Who’s driving?”

Yep. Molly Ringwald had made her decision, and it seemed she wasn’t going to give anyone an out. The boys stood, gathering their things. “We promise, it won’t be that bad.”

“Yeah. Let’s just not go near the satanic Paul Bunyan statue, okay?” Richie said. “I swear that thing looks like it’s going to eat a bunch of babies and me.”

Bill shuddered. Oh yeah, this was going to be fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who called it about Bev and Richie?


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie's heart is a jackhammer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: Mentions of blood. This may be a horror series but yeah... remember the rating.

_ "Give me your glasses." _

_ Richie's heart was a jackhammer. It rammed so hard and fast that he could feel it against his spine. He could feel it pulsing in the bile that climbed his throat. He could hear it with every shrieking whimper of breath. The terror in him was as real as the slick feeling of his hands, moisture that mixed between his fingers. Sweat. Blood. Streaks of dark red blood as Richie fight for breath. _

_ He couldn't fight for hope. There wasn't any.  _

_ The terror in him wouldn't die. It made everything so much worse, the nausea, the desperation, the despair. He had nothing else but his breath.  _

_ Bill reached forward. Despite everything in him twisting and wrenching, Richie could still feel Bill. His hand was warm, and he had a few calluses along his thumb and forefinger. Bill held his cheek for a moment before the bright blue-green eyes lost focus. Bill took his glasses. "Bill-"  _

_ "It'll be okay," Bill promised, even though it very much wasn't. It couldn't be okay. "Y-you already saw enough. You don't have to see anymore. I'll get us through. I promise."  _

_ "Bill!"  _

_ "Just -just my hand."  _

_ Richie saw his vague form reach forward. He knew what Bill looked like, of course, he did. Richie knew Bill no matter what, even with his glasses off. His skin had this light peach tones, but now the red stood out too much, messy handprints from where -  _

_ They were both bleeding.  _

_ They were both bloodstained. _

_ Not all of it was their own.  _

_ Stanley Uris. _

_ "I'm going to get us through." Bill pulled on Richie's hand and began walking them out. _

Richie rubbed at the bridge of his nose. He felt so off. Maybe it had to do with his sleepless nights. Or how when he did sleep, it wasn't restful. Unfortunately, their current deal didn't give much room to sleep.

Eddie refuses to let everyone climb in his car. Maybe the guy had a point - when he cared about something or someone, he cared with all of his might. They were all grown-ass adults who knew better than to climb in each other's laps or double buckle in a moving vehicle. Still, it was annoying. By the time they stopped arguing, they could have been somewhere, anywhere. At least Bill could have started his dumb tour. 

"Are you okay?" Bev nudged him with her elbow. Walking was lame. Unfortunately, according to Eddie, it was also the only option. The group could split up into two cars, but then it wouldn't be much of a tour. Even if they had some Bluetooth setup, the lag wouldn't stop half of everyone from feeling left out. So yeah, they were walking like some bad hunter-gatherers. 

"No one is okay. Not even Bill." Richie said. 

"Fair." Bev nodded. "But, you know what I mean." 

"Yeah, I know, but come on. Anyone who is especially not okay can just reach into Eddie's fanny pack and get some moisturizer tissues." 

"It's a drop bag, dick."

"Listen, Eddie, honey," Bev clasped her hands together, almost pleading with him. "I am literally a fashion major. You do not get to argue with me on this. That is a fanny pack."

"I get to argue when you're wrong. When I bought this, it was listed under drop bag."

"That's called marketing, and you got swindled." 

"Bill, can you explain something to me?" Richie raised his hand like they were in class. To be fair, this was like a field trip- a very bad field trip. It didn't even include lunch. Bill stopped and turned around, hands in his pockets.

"I only mean to be half an asshole here, maybe 75% asshole. The point is I ask this with no malice, but how did this happen?" Richie gestured furiously between him and Eddie.

"Oh, fuck you." 

"E-Eddie texted the group chat inviting everyone to go see a movie, and then he made a new group chat without you and asked everyone to cancel," Bill said. "You pulled the same stunt the next week."

Bev cooed, pressing her hands over her heart. 

"No. That's not cute. It's not," Richie refused. He narrowed his eyes, "Why aren't you upset?"

"Because I'm not an asshole, and you're not ugly," Eddie insisted. Richie raised his hand, and Bev quickly high-fives it. Richie knee what he looked like, he'd take what he could get. "What I don't get is why you're mad at me."

"I'm not mad at you, I'm mad at the situation," Richie said.

"Good! Cause I'm pissed at that, too!" Eddie said. He jabbed a finger at Bill, who took it like a champ. "I'm mad that this guy was stalking my boyfriend for years, and no one cares. No one!"

Richie looked down, scratching behind his ear. 

"I find out that there's a book about me. A book that's real that has answers like some retrograde psychic bullshit. Oh! Hey, Eds! Good news! You were in a healthy, happy, long term relationship! You were loving and loved, and it was all beautiful. It lasted years, and you went all the way! But the whole time, your best fucking friend was into him."

Eddie scoffed. "I know I've been rough. I get that. But all of you were supposed to be my friends. You were supposed to have my back. I know all this is weird, but that bit shouldn't have been."

Richie didn't think anyone knew what to say. What  _ could _ they say? What was a funny, charming aside in a book was probably heartbreaking in real life. Even if someone wasn't known for a jealous streak, having someone unashamed of their crush on your partner couldn't be easy. It shouldn't be easy. 

"I'm..." Richie said. Bev wouldn't look up. "I'm going to talk with Eddie for a moment. Catch up with you guys in a bit?" 

"Yeah, totally," Bev said. 

Richie turned to Eddie and pointed down the road. It wouldn't take long, probably. If, that is, Eddie agreed. As Beverly called him, Sir Hypochondriac just nodded, and they walked a few steps down the road. 

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry," Richie said. He didn't know if there was a right way to behave when a psychic book tore your life apart, but he imagined it probably wasn't the way they were acting. If the group of So-Called Losers had a bit more emotional intelligence (or let's be real, any intelligence), they would find a better way. 

Like not hiring PIs to stalk ex-friends - that would probably be right up there on Let's Not Do This list. They probably wouldn't go on a road trip with strangers. They probably would listen to the emotional needs of everyone. 

Even if everyone included a slightly abrasive guy who carried wet wipes on his belt. 

"None of this is easy." 

"No shit, Sherlock," Eddie said. 

"Eds," Richie said. "You're right about everything. You are. I don't remember any of my experience with having a SO, but from what I do know, it usually means your best friends don't flirt with them." 

Richie didn't remember Bill flat-out flirting with him in the book. There was just a lot of longing stares and  _ way _ too in-depth details about his freckles and eyes. That meant there had to be a lot of staring in real life, too. In the book, that was just fine. 

"I can't imagine being okay with that. Even if we were young and stupid," Eddie said. 

"Me neither. And I'm not okay with it now," Richie promised. That made Eddie look up from his pout. "What? I'm really not." 

"He knows how you take your coffee," Eddie said. "You get along with him, better than you do me."

"He remembers, Eddie. He remembers everything," Richie pointed down the pavement where the gaggle of losers hovered. "Those memories are supposed to be ours. It pisses me off that all those milestones we went through are just gone. We're here begging him for scraps we should never have lost in the first place. I want to take his mind and crystalize it. I want to scrapbook him in those little picture slots that prevent decay. Every time I look at him, I realize how much we lost and everything that we could have been. Fuck, Eddie. I get that you're mad cause I am too. He's our everything. 

"He has our first kiss," Richie sighed, looking up at the corner of the street. "He saw us fall in love or whatever it was, and I don't even remember feeling those things. Whatever you're feeling, Eddie, don't be ashamed of it cause what you're feeling is right. I'm feeling it, too."

Hope. Wonder. Intrigue. Excitement. Humor. Loss. Sadness.  _ That house was in shambles. _

What was it Bev had said? It felt like it was watching her. Richie took a small step forward on the sidewalk, his foot dipping down in front of the sewer drain into the road. Once that house must have been painted, but now it was gray and rotting. The open stretches of fallen beams and broken windows seemed to be pulling him in. Something was calling him.

Sickness. Nausea. Nervous. Fear. Defeat. Hopelessness. Terror. 

Blood.

"Ben said you tried to find him," Richie said quietly. 

"The other guy?" Eddie asked. "We got an address, yeah. The guy didn't let us in."

"You got something wrong," Richie insisted. 

"Richie! Don't!" 

Richie could hear Bill yelling. For once, his voice was bold like Richie hadn't heard before. Richie stepped forward in the street, heading for the wrought iron gate. Besides Bill, he knew someone else. He could feel them. 

"Richie?" Eddie piped up. "What are you doing?"

"He's in the house," Richie said over his shoulder. 

"Richie!" Bill yelled. By now, he had to be getting closer, but Richie didn't care. He couldn't.

He didn't know why, but the way his heart sped in his chest was sickeningly familiar. 

His heart was a jackhammer. 

Richie grabbed the gate, pulling it open. This could be the most critical moment of his life. He couldn't hear the others over the sound of his own pulse. He couldn't focus past the whirlwind in his mind, but it didn't matter. He  ** had ** to get into that house.

"Richie!" Bill grabbed his shoulder. 

"Get off me! He's in there!" Richie demanded. 

"You  **_ can't! _ ** " Bill said. 

"He's in there! He's in there!" 

"Richie!" Bill pulled him away.

"No! He is in there!" Richie insisted. Bev was tearing up, taking his other hand. Eddie had run up too, and now they were pulling him away. "He's in there. We can't leave him! Stan!" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been waiting to write that Bichie scene since I first came up with this idea PLEASE i hope y'all like it.

**Author's Note:**

> comments make me write faster


End file.
